


Runners

by Gemi



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Gore, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 22:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemi/pseuds/Gemi
Summary: The lovely Hummerhouse demanded I uploaded this where others can read it, and so I shall. This is just something I've been having fun with to relax, and I hope others will enjoy it too :3





	Runners

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely Hummerhouse demanded I uploaded this where others can read it, and so I shall. This is just something I've been having fun with to relax, and I hope others will enjoy it too :3

Rain has begun to fall, the sky grey and growing more foreboding above. There are slow drops that gradually paint the roof tiles a darker shade, but the roof has yet to grow _slippery_. It allows a turtle to slowly make his way over it, his steps carefully measured.  
  
His clothes are dark against his white skin, his boots heavy as he walks at a crawling speed. On his shell rests a heavy-looking backpack, firmly shut to protect its contents from the rain. Red eyes scan the streets below, taking in the swaying corpses wandering in the dim light of morning.  
  
The rain makes it more dangerous to walk the roofs; and yet they remain safer than the roads, for the zombies down there have yet to figure out how to walk the rooftops without falling. How to even get _up_ on said rooftops.  
  
Donovan is quite fond of safety.  
  
He stops by the edge of the building; the turtle crouches and leans forward just a bit to catch a glimpse of what he needs. Once satisfied with what he sees, he nimbly climbs down a wall and onto the windowsill which he had spotted from above.  
  
It is tricky, to balance there while carrying such a heavy burden. But Donovan manages to do so as he picks the lock of the window with his sharp claws. It opens with the barest of sounds, too low to attract anything which may hide inside the apartment.  
  
Still, the albino steps inside quietly, careful to get down to the floor without causing any kind of creaking of floorboards. And then he waits. He listens for any sounds, ready to sneak back out.  
  
There is nothing.  
  
Donovan does not relax; but what he _does_ is to shrug out of the backpack. He tucks it under the bed of the room, careful to not jostle it. Once he is certain none of the undead would be able to reach it, he straightens back up and removes two knives from his belt.  
  
He is careful to walk slowly. Being indoors does not mean safety, and just because it is quiet for _now_ , does not mean it will remain so. And so the albino slowly walk through room after room, focusing on keeping his breathing even and quiet.  
  
As he passes a closed bathroom, he hears a gurgle.  
  
The turtle freezes; he cocks his head towards the door. Listens.  
  
Another gurgle. There is the sound of shuffling, the kind of shuffling which someone on unsteady feet would make. Swaying and barely moving.  
  
He tightens the grip on his knives. And then Donovan raises one hand to give the door a knock, before he hurriedly steps back and raises his weapons.  
  
The gurgling stops. For a moment, there is nothing.  
  
And then the doorknob turns; the door slams open as the rotten creature barges out, its eyes wild and its meat rotting off of its bones. It claws at the air as it half-stumbles, half-runs forward, its mouth open and teeth falling out as it advances in a fast pace.  
  
Donovan exhales.  
  
He shoots forward to meet it, swiping one of his knives upwards.  
  
It’s not a long fight by any means; he has lived in this world for ten years now, and one can’t survive if one can’t finish a fight _quickly_.  
  
As the creature releases a gurgling almost-scream, the left knife slices its throat. What should have been a spray of blood is instead congealed clumps splattering wetly onto the albino’s jacket. Donovan does not blink, does not wait as he changes the angle of the right knife. It pierces the zombie’s throat and slides upwards, through the mouth and up into the brain before Novan yanks the knife back out.  
  
The albino moves to the side as the runner falls into the wall, its limbs twitching and jerking as it sinks to the floor. There are no sounds except for the kind rotting meat makes as it is shook off from the body and onto the wooden floor of the hallway in the zombie’s final, last death throes.  
  
He stands silently, listening once more.  
  
When no more of the creatures shows up, Donovan releases a heavy breath. He wipes the knives clean onto the carpet laying not far off on the floor. Tucking the knives back into their sheaths, he hurriedly returns to the bedroom he had entered from.  
  
Gently, the turtle tugs his backpack out from where he had hidden it. The apartment is as safe as it can be, and so he brings the backpack with him as he passes the corpse and enters the kitchen.  
  
He settles the backpack on the table there. Donovan uses a towel to wipe his jacket clean before he shrugs out of it all together. And then, finally, he sits down by the table and opens the backpack.  
  
A tiny turtle sleepily blinks up at him.  
  
It smiles a nearly toothless smile, and Donovan chuckles as he pulls it out of the backpack, hugging the baby close. They are small even for their kind, but it is at most seven months old. Its cheeks are chubby, and it pats at Novan’s cheeks in their excitement to see him.  
  
“You did so good, sweetheart,” he cooes, wiping away the remains of drool from the child’s chin, “I’m so proud, Yoshi. You really _are_ my son, aren’t you? Knowing when to be a _sneaky_ little thing.”  
  
Yoshino giggles and kicks out with his tiny, chubby legs.  
  
Donovan snorts.  
  
“Right,” he says and gets up, resting the child against his hip, “let’s see if there is any food in here. Might as well try our best to make our rations last, hm?”  
  
Outside, the rainfall grows heavier.  
  
But inside, it’s dry. Inside, it’s safe.  
  
For now.

**Author's Note:**

> Donovan and Yoshino Green belongs to me.


End file.
